


Everything and Anything

by Kaerue



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jealousy, Other, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerue/pseuds/Kaerue
Summary: A small glimpse into the life of England as he rides off with his war victory and spoils. Sure, besting France in battle is great but taking the large swath of land in North America is even better.
Relationships: Canada/England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 17





	Everything and Anything

The gentle sway of the carriage on the road is comforting. It’s nice to finally be headed home, victory won and spoils taken. I can still see the heartbroken look on France’s face when I told him I wanted Canada. It takes some self-control to not start smiling widely at the thought of his world crashing down on him. But I didn’t want to take Canada just because I knew how much it would hurt France, I demanded control over him because I wanted to save him. He will do so much better under my care.   
I turn my attention from the window of the carriage to the teenage boy sitting in front of me. He’s looking out of the window, lavender eyes filled with melancholy. He’s still dressed in French clothes, hair long and cascading in soft curls down his shoulders to his waist. He looks exactly like a young French noble. Decadent, feminine, soft. I’ll fix what France has done to the poor boy.   
“Have you ever been to the Americas?” I ask him in French. France was so blinded by spite that he neglected to teach the boy English. That too will be rectified.   
“No, I can not say that I have.” His voice is soft, delicate. I hope Alfred and him will get along, Lord knows how rough and adventurous that boy is. He may just eat Matthew up alive.   
“Well I’m sure you’ll love it. The ship leaves in two days time, until then I will have you looking like a proper gentleman.” He winces ever so slightly. I bet he already thinks he looks proper, but I could never bring him to America looking the way he does. The less he looks like France the better. At the moment he looks almost like a carbon copy of France’s younger self. . . I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel conflicted.   
Just as the sun begins to set we arrive at our destination. With only thirty-six hours left until the ship embarks, I immediately get started on changing his appearance.   
“Give him a bath and wash well, I want everything and anything French stripped away.” I tell a few of the maids in English.   
“Yes, sir.” The head maid answers before giving orders to the others on what to prepare. I close the door and turn to watch Canada watch them prepare a bath.   
“Take off your clothes.” I tell him. He gives me an incredulous look but ultimately begins to obey, slowly undoing the ties and buttons on his blouse. I suppose my staring is making him feel uncomfortable, so I turn to give him some privacy. My back remains to him until the maids have finished cleaning him and taking off that scented oil that smells exactly like France.   
A few different robes hang near the entrance of the room. I wasn’t sure what size he would be, but now it is easy to see that he is built a lot like France. I really wish the boy wasn’t so similar to that evil kingdom, every comparison I make drives me to get this transformation done faster. I cannot live with someone who looks, sounds, and acts like the very person who makes my blood boil just by opening his mouth.   
“Here.” I say while handing him the smallest robe. He hesitantly takes it and wraps it around himself, shivering slightly in the cold air. “Sit in that chair over there.” I gesture to the other side of the room. As he walks over to the chair and sits, I turn to the head maid who is clearing out the bath.   
“Cut his hair.”   
“Yes, sir. Suzanna would you fetch a pair of scissors?”   
“Of course.” The young maid says before scurrying off to find the tool. I approach Canada and stand behind the chair, placing my hands on his shoulders and looking at him through the mirror in front of us.   
“Have you ever been on a ship before?” I ask.   
“No, I have had no need for it.”   
“You may get a bit sick during the voyage. It is long, but I have prepared one of my best vessels. Are you nervous?”   
“I am.”   
“As long as you are under my care, you will remain safe.” I promise. He finally looks up and makes eye contact with me through the mirror. As I look at our reflections a pang of jealousy hits me at how drastically different we look from one another. He is quite stunning, a sight for sore eyes for sure. I, on the other hand, have never been much to look at. This is another reason why I do not like France. He’s beautiful and he knows it, flaunting it around, ego so inflated he threatens to take this very planet away from the solar system. He is so absorbed with himself and his reflection, convincing himself he is the pinnacle of perfection by pointing out everyone else’s physical flaws.   
I resist the urge to run my hand across the heavy splatter of freckles on my nose and cheeks as all his insults about them run through my mind. His smug comments about the thickness of my eyebrows or about my height attack me as I look at the flawlessness of Canada’s skin. He’s so fucking pretty.   
Canada flinches a bit as my grip tightens on his shoulders. I can’t wait to see these precious dark blonde curls fall to the ground. Speaking of, Suzanna returns with a pair of scissors in hand and gives it over to my head maid. She walks over to us and I step aside, watching the boy’s face fall as he realizes what she is going to do.   
“They are going to cut my hair?” He asks.   
“Yes, hair that long is unbecoming of a man.”   
“I have seen Englishmen with long hair. Get away.” He says, smacking my head maids hand.   
“Not as long as yours.” I say while stepping in front of the chair and holding his wrists down on the arms of it. “It is just hair, Matthew. You will look much better with a shorter length.” He struggles against me to no avail. The maid takes a chunk of his hair and he looks up into my eyes.   
“Please, please don’t cut my hair.” He begs with tears in his eyes. Rather than make me sympathize, his reaction to this situation makes me want to do it more. Is he really so vain that simply cutting his hair will make him burst into tears? I wonder if France would cry and beg if I tried to cut his hair? It’s a pleasant thought.   
“Cut it.” I command the maid. She cuts the section of hair in her hands, delicate curls falling to the ground. He stops struggling and allows her to cut the entirety of his hair. It irritates me that he still looks wonderful, even with chin-length hair. Whatever, at least he looks less like France.   
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I ask softly. He just shakes his head, refusing to make eye contact with me. Feeling a little like I may have been too cruel, I make a sympathetic face and return to my spot behind the chair. “Are you hungry?”   
He nods, looking at me through the mirror.   
“Good,” I begin before switching back to English to address my maids, “Tell Vivian to prepare a stew this evening. It is rather cold today.”   
“Yes, sir.” Suzanna answers before scurrying back out of the room.   
“Now, what to do about your inability to speak English. . .” I think for a few seconds before coming up with an idea, “Ah, I know, I will ban the use of French, or any other language for that matter. You will only be able to speak English, understand? Nothing else no matter the circumstances.”   
“What if I must communicate something important?”   
“You will find a way to tell me in English. Starting at this very moment French is banned,” I say before switching to English permanently, “by immersing you completely in the language you will hopefully learn it quickly.”   
Unsurprisingly he remains quiet for the remainder of our time in England. He picked up a few things like ‘hello’, ‘good morning’, ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘please’,and ‘thank you’. I found him practicing in his room earlier and I felt my chest well up with joy. I truly hope he will be happy under my care, even if the initial switch is jarring.   
Unfortunately before we can board the ship this evening we must meet with France. It was his only request after giving me Canada, that he could see him one last time before leaving Europe. I am not a solely cruel man, not to mention my king had agreed to it before I could object, so I allowed for him to do so. One of my servants leads France into my study where Canada and I are waiting. Right when France’s eyes fall on Canada his expression turns hopeful. I crush it by refusing to allow them to embrace.   
“We shall be leaving in the next few minutes, so make whatever you would like to say quick. In English please.” I state.   
“Matthew, this will not be permanent. I will try my best to get you back I promise.”   
“Huh, do not make promises you cannot keep, Frances. Go outside with Vivian Matthew, I will join you shortly.” He nods and looks longingly at France before obeying. Right as the door closes behind the boy France turns back to me with an intense expression.   
“What have you done to him?” He asks, words laced with malice, “hardly two days with you and you have turned him into a somber soul, cut his hair, and dressed him in awfully boring English clothes.”   
“Of course you would be focused on his appearance, I’m just glad he looks less like you.”   
“He will always look like me no matter how short you cut his hair or what you dress him in. He will always be my son.”   
“Will he?” I say in a pouting voice. He huffs and looks away from me, golden hair swaying around his waist as he does so. Eventually his furious demeanor calms into a doleful one as looks back at me.   
“Promise me, Arthur, that you will do right by him. I know that deep in your heart you truly want what is best for him, just promise me you will not punish him for what I have done to you.”   
“He will excel under me,” I begin, feeling on top of the world, “only greatness comes out of my empire.”   
“Thank you.” I feed off the pain in his eyes, his inability to remain in complete control of his emotions. I have bested him, in absolutely everything and against all odds, and now I have taken from him the very thing he loves the most.   
“Canada will do well, that I can promise. He’ll make a fine Englishman, the finest this world has ever seen. I want everything and anything British to shine from him as if he were the personification of Britannia herself. You will look at that young man and see me every time.”   
He wipes a few tears that have escaped his eyes away and I couldn’t feel any less sympathy. This, right here, is my moment. Every nation on this continent, in the world, now knows that I am the most powerful among them. I will become the greatest empire the sun has ever set on. No, the greatest empire the sun will never set on.   
“Godspeed.” He says softly before turning and swiftly walking out of the room.   
My high lasts for a couple of hours as I make sure everything is ready for the journey ahead. As I board the ship with Canada and take one last look at the coast, a feeling of contentedness washes over me.   
“It is such a relief that this war is finally over.” I say, knowing that he won’t understand me. He looks off at the coast as well and for a moment I see America in him. It has been seven years since I last saw my own prized possession, the one I call my son. I cannot wait to see him again and hear his cheerful voice.   
I imagine a memory, Canada and America sitting outside looking up at the stars. They are laughing together, telling stories and jokes. They look to me and smile brightly asking if I would like to add to the jubilation. Of course I would.   
“How long on the sea?” He asks me in heavily accented English.   
“Sixty days or so if she is favorable to us. Come now.” I gesture for him to follow me and I lead him into my quarters. “You will stay here with me during this voyage. Once we land in Virginia we shall take a carriage from the docks into the country a few miles before reaching the plantation. I’m sure you will love the manor, France helped me design it himself when we were on more amicable terms before the war.” He just looks at me, probably not understanding most of what I said. A sigh leaves me as I approach him and cup his cheek. Yet, as I look into his eyes the paternal feeling leaves me and is replaced with something much more dominating. I see a young France looking up at me with those wide eyes, vulnerable, nervous, beautiful. In my brief infatuation I allow my thumb to trace down his lips, reveling in the femininity in him.   
I pull my hand away as if I had been shocked. I will not treat this boy as if he is France, he has done nothing to me. Stepping away from him I sit down at the small table in the room but as my eyes return to him I’m hit with a rather unfortunate realization. As I look at him stand there, wringing his hands nervously while looking down, I discover that he will always remind me of France. He’ll always make me jealous of his beauty, the sound of his voice, his aura just as France has made me feel since time immemorial. He will always remind me of the pain his father has caused me, the wars and the hatred. I had imagined France as I commanded that maid to cut his hair, reveling in the prospect of doing so to his father. I will punish the poor boy for something he cannot control. This is the unfortunate realization.   
So as the ship leaves the port, I promise Canada that I will do everything in my power to erase every bit of France from him inside and out. He will be unrecognizable the next time France lays his eyes on my son.


End file.
